The King and the Lionheart
by CEA
Summary: The Royai 100 Themes as a series of connected short stories. Chapter 4: Grave. "It was rare to encounter something about Roy Mustang that left her utterly clueless."
1. 1 - Military Personnel

**1. Military Personnel**

The mess hall was never too loud. Soldiers argued and laughed, but many quietly ate and then were on their way. Most sat in the same spot every day. Most came at nearly the same time, in and out like clockwork. The food changed minutely, offering a few choices here and there and a wealth of coffee. For some, coffee was better than an actual meal.

Roy came here three times a day, most days. He was sure, by now, that the men at the table he normally occupied could rattle off his likes and dislikes easily. He liked sweets, red meat, and coffee, lots of coffee. He disliked fish, thick soups, and water. He was predictable.

Havoc (who fell into the coffee-is-a-fine-meal crowd) had come and gone earlier with Breda (who was entirely unpredictable; Roy was certain the man would eat anything that could even marginally be called 'food'). Falman had elected to eat out that day (at the café he normally went to when he had the time; otherwise, he and Roy agreed rarely on food and Roy had, on occasion, been known to sit elsewhere when he chose to eat the fish entree). Fuery had disappeared hours earlier on an errand, but Roy knew well enough that if he were here he would have chosen the daily sandwich.

"Should I be worried, sir?"

Roy looked up from his still-full plate to find wry amusement threatening the corner of his lieutenant's mouth. Riza Hawkeye was also entirely predictable. Like Fuery, she nearly always chose the daily sandwich. She liked to accompany it with a cup of whatever soup they were offering (even, to his disgust, the thick ones). Regardless of what she was eating, there was always a cup of tea with a slice of lemon and a tablespoon of honey to be found. He could make her tea in his sleep. He was fairly certain he had done just that at least once.

"It's nothing," he said, smiling, and began to eat. She watched him momentarily, then returned to her simple meal.

He knew his men would clock out at 5 on the dot, but Hawkeye would stay. The door would shut, and they would quietly continue their work until 6, when both would walk down for the evening meal. More work would follow, before they went home at some ungodly hour. They would walk to the front together, and then go their separate ways.

Their routine. It was surprisingly quiet, sometimes, the way they navigated the corners of their lives, oft-entwined as they were. Sudden explosions would rock them, but then the next day they would be back, drinking coffee and tea across from each other at 12:30.

He wouldn't have it any other way.


	2. 2 - Gunshot

**2. Gunshot**

The single sound echoes through the streets, and he's running. Panting, shaking, pushing one foot in front of the other, in the direction the gunshot came from, because even though his brain has barely processed what just happened he knows the direction it came from and _she's there_. Not the sound of a sniper rifle, not the sound he was expecting, something far scarier. His men call his name but he ignores them. They can handle themselves for a second.

He rushes up the abandoned clock tower, promising himself she'll be okay. Behind him, the sound of Havoc's automatic goes off, and above the sound of handgun battle begins. There wasn't supposed to be a handgun battle. _How did they know she would be there?_

She's going to yell at him for rushing up here like this. He knows that. The gang they've been tracking has proven to be a lot smarter than anyone had anticipated, though, and they found her. While she can certainly handle herself he knows she must be surprised. Surprise is the biggest killer in the military.

His hand is already poised to snap when he flings open the door at the top. She's on the ground, a rifle pressed against her neck, brown eyes flashing at the man in black pressing her to the ground. Her hands are forcing the rifle back bit by leg, and when she works a leg free she kicks ineffectively at his shin.

Roy snaps.

The man in black screams, falling off her, flailing in shock and horror as his eyes are singed out. Riza stays where she is, her eyes hooked on Roy as he steps in, lifting his hand again.

The hairs on the man's head are systematically set on fire, and he screams as each one reaches his scalp. "Stop! Stop! You bastard! You fucking bastard!" That hardly deters Roy, who passes his fire around the man's body, searching for new places to hurt.

Riza steps in front of him, her mouth set in a firm line. Her small hand finds Roy's forearm, and she meets his eyes. "Major General," she says, quietly, "he's more useful alive. Stop."

Roy does stop, his arm hanging useless by his side. He tries to quell the panic that is still eating up his chest. Her eyes hold a mixture of emotions – warm with understanding, but flashing with irritation at the same time.

Below them, the sound of Havoc's automatic stops. "We're all set, Chief!" Havoc calls up. He knows that somewhere nearby, Fuery is recording. When they return, there will be a lot of paperwork.

The man in black has passed out. For a moment, all is quiet, save for the sound of their breathing. She doesn't step back for a long, long moment.

* * *

Roy knows it is coming. Havoc is already standing up, stretching, preparing to go. Fuery gets up a moment later. The clock chimes, and they shrug on their coats. Havoc yawns. "Long day, Chief," he murmurs.

"Yeah," Roy responds. His voice is dull. "Get some rest, both of you. We'll have to explain tomorrow."

They leave, shuffling after each other. The door shuts. She waits for only a moment; then Riza sighs, looking at him with exasperation. "How long is this going to continue?"

"I don't know," he responds. He really hates how petulant he sounds. He fully deserves her ire.

She walks around her desk and over to his. He doesn't look at her at first, but then squares his shoulders and lifts his chin. Her hands are crossed in front of her as she regards him. "You're not letting me do my job."

"I know that," he says, still petulant-sounding. He hates being told off. He hates it so much more when he knows he's in the wrong.

"How am I supposed to protect you when-"

"I just-" he interrupts, biting off the words, then pausing, searching for the right ones. "I see it in my head," he says. "Over and over, I see you lying there, blood pooling around, and I can't help it. I _panic_, and all I can think about is keeping you safe."

Riza sighs again, pinching her nose, and then steps forward. He leans his forehead on her stomach, breathing in the scent of her. "I know," she says. "I have my own memories. Watching you disappear, not knowing if you were safe, seeing what they'd done to you. It's a constant nightmare. But," she says, her hands on either side of his face, tilting his eyes up to meet hers, "we got out of that because _we are a team_. If we hadn't been, it never would have worked. And we can't be a team if you won't trust me to do my part."

He nods, still breathing her in, and feels himself calm. "I'll work on it," he says.

"Promise?"

"Promise."


	3. 3 - Battlefield

**3. Battlefield**

She's a cadet. They shipped her out here for two reasons: her aim, and the lack of bodies. The ones they send here keep coming back twenty to a wagon. When she first heard that, she felt nearly sick, but the longer she's here the more acutely she's aware of the fact that the higher-ups don't seem to view their soldiers as anything but numbers. Ten come out, nine die, they send twelve to reinforce. It's a numbers game, and they're winning 10-to-1. They're probably more afraid that they'll run out of wagons.

Still, her aim is the primary reason. There are moments from her time at basic training that stick in Riza's mind, but the one that she always goes back to in her worst moments was the first time she shot a gun for them. She let off the rifle rounds easy, years of hunting having honed an almost inhuman talent past the point of refinement. She had been so isolated as a girl that she never realized she was especially skilled until she turned back from the range to the absolute quiet of a hundred shocked faces. One face stood out: the wicked glee on a Major's face as he viewed his latest killing machine.

So, here, she is almost always utilized with her primary skill set as a sniper. There's no one better, and she knows that even if no one else will admit that a skinny, female teenager is the best they've got. But sometimes the wagons are fuller than usual and the reinforcements slow. On those days, they hand her the infantry's weapon and ship her out on the front lines.

Today is the first time that she's been sent out after _he's_ already done his job, and now she has a new memory to keep her awake at night. The buildings around her are in shambles. Many are still burning, and only a short distance in front of her black smoke rises up, dark and heavy, into a bright, blue day. The air is unbelievably dense, but she resists the urge to cover her mouth with her sleeve. She needs to be ready to fire.

The smell is the worst part. Roy's talked about it in halting, shaking whispers around the campfire at night, but only now does she understand what he meant when he said the smell was _thick_. It's so thick she almost thinks she can bite down and feel it flow into her throat. There are a thousand parts to it. Some moments it smells like beef and fat frying, but then it twists and she can smell iron and something sickeningly sweet. Nothing else smells like fresh bodies burning. She already knows she will never, ever forget this smell.

Riza moves forward. Her squad is moving west, but she was given a different instruction. "Go get him, cadet." His job momentarily done, Mustang had disappeared. She had been surprised when the order was issued, but looking around the squadron she had seen in their eyes something she knew was lacking in hers: fear. They were terrified of the Flame Alchemist. So she had nodded, moving out by herself.

There's no way here but to go through the burning building in front of her. She looks left, then right, then quickly through the archway and down the first-floor hallway. Above her, the fire rages. She clears the building quickly, then drops next to it, checking all her blind spots.

He's there, standing in the middle of the street while the block behind him burns. He doesn't appear to be doing anything. His arms hang uselessly at his side. There's no one around them that she can see, but he is dangerously exposed. She moves quickly up to him. "Sir."

Roy startles noticeably, turning to her. His eyes are red-rimmed. She isn't surprised. This isn't the first time she's seen him this way, but normally she is able to evaluate his horror clinically through the scope of her rifle. He looks away, fidgeting, and begins, finally, to stumble towards safety. He's embarrassed.

"Major-"

"Move away, cadet."

She doesn't. Riza catches up to him quickly, but stays a pace behind him, watching him carefully for any erratic signs. "I was sent to bring you back to the squad, Sir."

He chuckles darkly. "Of course you were. Cowards."

"They're afraid of me too, sir," she says. He glances behind, his eyes not meeting hers, but she knows she's captured his attention. "I think they are happy to be rid of both of us for a while."

Now Roy does look fully at her. His eyes are filled with the same deep sadness she sees in the mirror. Riza knows his ideals are still held dear to him, and she knows exactly how it feels to betray them every day. She still has hope, though, that when this is all over they can do what they can to rectify the very grave damage they have done, even if they can never be fully human again. She still believes in the words he said to her, once. Though she has no reason to, she still believes in _him._

He steps back, leaving room for her. "Well then," Roy says, and there is no mirth in his voice, "let's go disappoint them."

Riza moves closer, close enough to touch, but doesn't. She turns west. "Yes, sir."

Together, they leave.


	4. 4 - Grave

4. Grave

Riza looked up from her paperwork as the train came to a fairly fast stop. Other people sat up sharply, jolted and confused. Across from her, Roy came to more slowly, his eyes blinking owlishly. He sat up, stretching, and then looked back and forth down the aisle.

"Why have we stopped?"

"I don't know, sir," Riza said truthfully, equally puzzled. They had set out from East City a few hours earlier, on their way back to Ishval. The week spent at Eastern Headquarter had been fruitful but incredibly busy, and Riza was still trying to catch up. Their request to build a train line to Ishval had been granted, as well as a supplemental budget increase, but her exhilaration didn't help much with the mountain of paperwork that now had to be filled out.

"I'm going to go check," Roy declared, quickly doing up his discarded jacket and standing. He seemed uncertain whether to travel down the train or up it, but at that moment the porter appeared, looking harried. "Ladies and gentlemen," he shouted over the bustle of confusion, "I must apologize. We have temporarily broken down. The engineer is already working on it and it will be fixed, but we will be delayed."

The rest of his message was drowned out by several angry passengers. Riza sighed internally and turned back to her paperwork. As members of the senior military staff they always traveled first-class, and one thing she had learned over the years was that other first-class passengers could be terrible to travel with.

She realized a few seconds later that Roy was still standing in the aisle. She glanced up quizzically to find him staring intensely out the window. The expression on his face was one she had rarely encountered before, and she was unsettled to realize she wasn't sure what to make of it. Suddenly, he took off down the aisle to join the group of people accosting the porter. The porter noticed him immediately, and stopped mid-sentence to salute. "General!"

Riza stood, accurately predicting that all eyes would turn to Roy as soon as his title was announced. She moved forward as several people began to try to gain Roy's attention instead of the porter's, but Roy ignored them. "Where are we?"

The porter looked perplexed. "About two hours south of East City, sir."

"Do you know the name of the nearest town?"

The porter looked out the window, his brows furrowed. "I believe, sir, that we're close to Lohne."

A small smile broke out on Roy's face. Riza watched him curiously as she took her place by his side. "How long did you say we'd be stopped?"

"At least an hour, sir."

"Brilliant." Roy turned to Riza, still grinning. "We're going for a walk, Captain."

She stared at him. "Sir?"

"A walk. You and me. Grab your things."

A panicked look crossed the porter's face. "Sir, we're really not supposed to-"

"We'll be back before the hour is up," Roy said, placing his hat on his head. "If anyone complains, tell them they can talk to General Roy Mustang when we return."

Riza was incredibly perplexed. Roy was occasionally spontaneous, but she couldn't think of anything quite as odd as pulling them off a train for a walk in the middle of nowhere before. "General, this isn't a good idea," she insisted.

"It's a fabulous idea," he countered, smiling at her. "Come on."

The porter opened the door. Riza took off her jacket, making sure her guns were all holstered. If Roy was going to go gallivanting off to the woods, she was going to make sure she was properly equipped.

He was in abominably good spirits, she decided shortly thereafter. Getting off the train had taken several more minutes, as passengers had rightly complained. Roy had managed to charm all of them eventually, though, so here they were, getting lost in the woods on what was supposed to be a paperwork-filled trip back to Ishval.

He didn't seem lost, though. He was moving quite purposefully, checking direction every so often. Riza had to admit she was curious. He'd never mentioned this town. In fact, she realized, as they continued on their path, he said only a little about the time before he came to study with her father, and that had been a long time ago. She was one of the few who knew about his childhood with Madame Christmas and the girls. It was rare to encounter something about Roy Mustang that left her utterly clueless.

In surprisingly short time, the woods cleared. Across a few grassy fields Riza could see farms and a town. Roy continued in that direction, but before they reached it he veered left on a path into the forest again.

"Where are we going?" she asked, not for the first time.

"All those times you told me patience is a virtue," he teased. "We're almost there."

A few hundred feet later on, and she finally realized where they were going as they reached an iron gate. Riza looked at him, a question written on her face, but he ignored her, pushing the gate open. He strode purposefully away again, and again she followed. The purposefully cheerful grin on his face had slipped, replaced by a more introspective gaze. Near the northeast corner of the cemetery, he slowed, reading the name on each stone as he passed them. Riza was quiet, waiting for the purpose behind this mission to be revealed.

Eventually, he stopped, facing two headstones side-by-side. Riza stopped next to him, and by now, having guessed what was going on, was unsurprised to see the names _Eric Mustang _and _Li-Hua Mustang_. The death date was the same for both: Sept. 24, 1892.

Roy had only spoken of his parents once, in halting whispers at night while her father slept in his study. They'd both been a little tipsy off poorly-hidden whiskey, and he'd told her of the train accident, the caskets, his inability to understand at such a young age what had happened, how his aunt from Central had taken him in. She'd all but forgotten. She wondered if this was the first time he'd been back here since then.

He was silent for so long she began to worry, but then cleared his throat. The wind blew softly. "Mom, dad," he said. "Hi." He lapsed into silence again for a bit. Riza stayed still, comfortable from years of military training, waiting to see what this was all about.

Suddenly, he fumbled awkwardly with his hands, and she realized he was removing his gloves. He shoved them into a pocket, then half-turned to her. Roy Mustang was blushing.

His hand was cool and a little sweaty in hers as he grasped her right hand in his left, squeezing a little too tight at first. He turned back to the gravestones, opened his mouth, and nothing came out. Swallowing loudly, he tried again. "I wanted to introduce you," he announced. "This…" he paused, as though struggling for the right words. She squeezed back, and felt him relax.

His voice, when he said it, was filled with incredibly deep warmth. "This," he said again, pride coloring the tone, "is _my Lieutenant_."


End file.
